


Straight Shoulders

by Rochelle_Templer



Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Illness, friendship fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: When almost everyone at the pad gets sick, one of them makes sure that they are taken care of....





	Straight Shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the comment in "I've Got a Little Song Here" from Peter where he said that his mother said that Mike "had the best posture of anyone she knew."

It was a relatively quiet morning at 1334 North Beechwood that day, the inhabitants of the house all sleeping in later than usual. Eventually, a lone, lanky figure with a green hat perched on his head strolled down the spiral staircase and headed for the kitchen while rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Once he got there, Mike let out a drawn-out yawn and poured some water into the coffeemaker. While he was waiting for the water to heat up, he moved over to the cupboard and grabbed his mug while making a quick assessment of his options for breakfast. Finding nothing more than a pair of bread heels, the Texan decided to hold off eating until the others woke up. There was a slow cooker full of homemade chicken soup on the counter that he had prepared for them last night. He figured he could help himself to a portion of that after giving some to them.

A thin drizzle of brown liquid trickled into Mike’s mug. Before long he was sipping at the contents and trying to wake himself up. Unfortunately, it was proving to be a formidable task.

The reason for his tiredness started in the evening of the day before last. Davy had started sneezing and was complaining that it was too hot even though it had been a cool autumn day. Peter and Micky soon followed suit and by the afternoon yesterday, all three of them had been stricken with a fever. Only Mike had been spared. The Texan had called for a doctor, and to his relief, had been informed that their illness was nothing serious and would clear up with time and rest.

However, that still left Mike with three sick friends to look after. At first, they spent most of their time sleeping, but soon there was a near endless series of requests for water, extra blankets, or just someone to sit with them while they endured their latest spike in temperature. As the only person who wasn’t ill, these duties fell to Mike. So far, he had been able to keep up with the hectic pace demanded, but it also meant that he hadn’t gotten in the way of substantial sleep lately.

He had just about finished his first mug of coffee when the faint tinkling of a bell reached his ears, prompting a giant sigh. Mike had given him that bell to signal when he needed something so that Micky could stay upstairs in bed. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was also clear to Mike that Micky had grown a little too fond of using it.

Another series of rings sounded, and Mike gulped down the rest of his coffee and headed up the stairs. He had long since given up trying to anticipate what Micky would ask for next. In the last twenty-four hours, the drummer had asked for everything from another pillow, which was entirely doable, to a room full of popcorn, which certainly was not. Thus, Mike knew he would have to be prepared for anything.

The Texan walked into the room to find Micky with his face buried in a pile of pillows, his blanket tangled at his feet and his hands still clutching the bell. At the sound of footsteps, he turned over, and Mike was worried at how flushed Micky’s face was.

“Hey Mike,” Micky said, a loopy smile on his face. “What’cha doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Mike shrugged. “You called me. Remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Micky said, the smile growing wider. “There was something really important I was going to ask you for.”

There was a long stretch of silence while Mike watched Micky stare at him with glazed eyes.

“Which was?” Mike finally asked.

“Funny, you know I don’t remember,” Micky laughed weakly. “But I’m sure that it was really important.” The corner of Mike’s mouth curled up.

“Sure it was,” he chuckled. “In the meantime, how about you get some more shuteye until you do remember.”

Micky nodded and fell back against the mattress. Mike walked over and untangled the blankets so he could drape them over the drummer’s prone form. As he did so, his hand brushed Micky’s forehead, causing him to frown.

“Man, Mick, you’re burning up,” he muttered.

The Texan finished tucking him in before rushing over to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth and started to dab Micky’s forehead.

“Mike,” Micky moaned as he started to thrash beneath the covers again. “Mike…!”

“Hey, shh, it’s ok,” Mike said, continuing his ministrations. “I’m here. Just go back to sleep, all right?”

Sufficiently placated, Micky closed his eyes and flopped over onto his side. Mike pressed the washcloth onto Micky’s head and sat down on the edge of the bed to watch him. A few minutes later, he felt Micky’s forehead again, relieved to find it cooler. Mike stood up and took away the washcloth. He was about to leave when another thought occurred to him. He went back, carefully extracted the bell from Micky’s fingers and made sure to place it just out of reach. Satisfied, he pulled the blanket closer to Micky’s chin before walking out of the room and down the stairs.

Almost as soon as he got there, he heard Peter calling for him from the downstairs bedroom. Mike stopped by the kitchen and fetched a glass of water, knowing that that would be the first thing Peter would ask for.

“Hey Pete,” Mike said as he walked into the room. “You thirsty again?”

Peter smiled and nodded as the Texan handed him the glass. He drained the liquid inside within seconds before sitting it on the nightstand beside him. He then snuggled into his pile of blankets.

“You need anything else, Shotgun?” Mike asked.

“Well, I…” Peter mumbled. “Mike…I can’t sleep. Tell me that thing you said your mom used to tell you.”

“Again?” Mike said. “Pete, I know I’ve already told you that story at least twenty times now.”

“But I never got to hear the end,” Peter replied.

“That’s ‘cause you keep falling asleep before I can finish,” Mike chuckled ruefully as he sat down on a chair beside the bed.

“I’m sorry but, I…,” Peter said. “I just know I’ll stay awake this time. Please, Mike?”

“Oh all right,” Mike said, crossing his arms over his chest.

He proceeded to relate a tale of a Texas Prairie Chicken who ended up in a tight spot involving a wolf and buried treasure. Just as predicted, Peter fell back asleep several minutes before Mike had reached the conclusion. The Texan rolled his eyes and reached for the empty glass on the nightstand. He was about to return it to the kitchen when a muffled sob got his attention. He sat the glass back down and crept over to the other bed in the room.

Mike bent down over Davy’s bed and was dismayed to hear another sniffle that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with his illness. He put a hand on Davy’s shoulder.

“Davy? Hey, Davy, are you all right?” he asked worriedly.

There was another sob and then Davy turned toward him with red, wet eyes.

“Mike?” he said, swiping his arm across his face. “What…what are you doing here?”

“Last time I checked, I still live here,” Mike said as he sat down on the bed next to him.

“Oh,” Davy said sheepishly. He looked as if he was about to turn away, but Mike squeezed his shoulder.

“You sure you’re all right, Tiny?” he asked. Davy flicked his eyes downward and sniffed again.

“I…I had this dream,” Davy said. “I guess it had to be a dream. I…I was here in bed and was wishing that my mum was here. And then, she was. Right where you are now. Telling me that it’d be all right and holding my hand. She kept telling me to close my eyes, so I did. But when I woke up again, she was gone.”

Mike nodded solemnly. He knew that Davy had lost his parents when he was young and had spent most of his childhood with his grandfather. Still, it wasn’t surprising to him that Davy would think of them during times like this when he felt horrible and his spirits were probably low.

“I’m sorry, Tiny,” he said quietly. “But hey, listen, I know it won’t be the same, but if you want, I’ll stay with you while you go back to sleep.”

Another tear wobbled out of Davy’s eye, but he still managed a smile.

“Thanks Mike,” he said as he laid back down. Mike patted his shoulder and scooted over so he could lean back against the headboard while Davy curled up against him. Less than a minute later, Mike heard snoring and smiled.

Then he looked over and was shocked to see Micky standing in the doorway. The drummer had wrapped a quilt around his shoulders even as sweat beaded on his forehead. Mike shook his head, regret filling him for moving the bell out of his reach.

“Micky? Aw man, I’m sorry if you were looking for that bell. Did you remember what you wanted to ask for earlier?”

Micky said nothing as he walked over to the bed and plopped down. Before Mike could say another word, Micky laid down closer to the foot of the bed, his head resting on Mike’s leg.

“Mick? Hey, Mick, babe, don’t you think it’d be more comfortable back in your own bed?” Mike said.

“DonwannamoveI’mgoodhere,” Micky mumbled as he closed his eyes. Seconds later, he was also snoring away. Mike’s mouth fell open as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

“Guys, come on,” he said, nudging both Davy and Micky. “Y’all can’t stay like this. I have stuff I need to do. Guys?”

But neither Davy nor Micky showed any signs of hearing him. Mike tried nudging them again before letting his head bounce back against the wall. He glanced over at Peter before turning his gaze toward the ceiling.

‘ _Well…at least they’re all sleeping at the same time for a change,’_ he mused. ‘ _And having them all in one place does make it easier to keep an eye on them.’_

Mike shook his head and carefully crossed his feet. Truthfully, he was grateful for the chance to grab a nap himself. Even though he had just gotten up, he was still drained from spending most of the previous night tending to his band mates. A couple hours of sleep before lunch sounded ideal. Then he could get started working on another batch of his family’s homemade remedy for colds and fevers. He’d probably have to borrow a couple of the ingredients from his neighbors, but Mike was sure that they’d be happy to oblige given the situation.

He had just closed his eyes and was starting to nod off when a knock sounded at the door. Scrunching up his eyebrows, Mike groaned and cursed under his breath. Babbit had been by yesterday to bark about the rent. Mike had explained their current dilemma to him and the landlord appeared to have been willing to wait until the guys got better. But the idea that Babbit might change his mind had crossed his mind more than once just the same.

Mike sighed and gingerly moved both Davy and Micky aside so he could extract himself from their clinging. After making sure that they hadn’t woken up and that they were covered by their blankets, Mike left to see who was at the door. Another knock sounded, causing him to scowl.

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” he shouted at the door. He opened it and was shocked to see a well dressed, middle-aged woman with sandy blond hair and a piercing stare on the other side.

“Oh um, sorry about that,” Mike said, brushing the front of his robe. “I thought, well I thought you were…um, never mind.”

“It’s all right,” the woman said congenially. “You must be Michael Nesmith.”

“Yes I am,” Mike said. “How do you do? I’m sorry, I’m not sure if we’ve met….”

“Didn’t Peter mention that I was coming?” she said. “I’m Harriet Tork. His mother.”

Mike briefly closed his eyes and bit back another curse. Now that she mentioned it, he remembered Peter telling them last week that his mother would be stopping by to visit for a couple days. In all the craziness with everyone getting sick, he had forgotten about it completely.

“I had assumed that Peter would meet me at the airport,” Harriet continued. “Speaking of which, where is he? Is he here?”

“Uh yeah, he’s here,” Mike said, moving aside so she could walk in. “He hasn’t been feeling well. Mrs. Tork, I’m sure he wanted to meet you, but this is a pretty nasty bug and….”

“Peter’s sick?” Harriet said. “What happened? Where is he? Is he in hospital?”

“It’s ok, he’s here, in bed, sleeping,” Mike assured her. “Honestly, it’s not that serious, he’s….”

Harriet marched toward bedroom with Mike following close behind. As soon as she spied Peter in bed, she let out a little gasp. Just then, Peter opened his eyes and smiled.

“Hi Mom,” he said. Harriet rushed over and sat down on the bed.

“Oh Peter, my poor Peter,” she crooned. “Are you all right? What did the doctor tell you? You have seen a doctor, haven’t you?”

“Probably,” Peter grinned. “I don’t remember. Mike takes care of that stuff.”

“Yes, you’ve seen a doctor, Peter,” Mike interjected. “And he said that it was just a fever that would blow over in a couple days.”

“Well, I think I’m going to get a second opinion, if you don’t mind,” Harriet said.

Her tone stung, but Mike did his best to brush it aside. From what Peter had told him, his mother was a kind person, if a little smothering at times. He imagined that she was just worried and hadn’t meant anything by her words.

“I, uh, I can get you some coffee, if you’d like,” the Texan said. “And we have some soup, if you’d like some.”

“Coffee will be fine, thank you,” Harriet said.

Mike nodded and walked out. He couldn’t help but wonder if things were going to be tense the entire time she was here.

For now though, he would just have to concentrate on making sure that everyone was taken care of. Visiting mother or no.

* * *

 

A little over a day later, Harriet prepared to leave the pad, a wistful smile on her face.

She had been looking forward to this visit for a while and was disappointed that Peter had been sick the entire time, but still had cherished spending time with her son. For his part, Peter had done his best to be his usual cheery self even though he was clearly feeling miserable.

True to her word, she had called for a doctor to check on Peter’s condition again. Seeing how ill the others were, she also secretly asked him to examine them as well. Just as Mike had told her, the physician gave a diagnosis of a mild flu and fever that was well on its way to clearing up.

_“But are you sure that they’ll be all right?” she had asked, still worried at how lethargic her son and his friends were._

_“I’m telling, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Tork,” the doctor had told her. “Quite frankly, there was really no need to call me. These boys are comfortable, well-fed, and recovering nicely. I’d say that someone has been taking excellent care of them.”_

Back in the present, Harriet walked slowly toward the front door, making sure that the clicking of her heels on the floor wouldn’t be too loud. Thinking back on it now, she wasn’t surprised at what the doctor had told her. She had seen first-hand how attentive Mike had been to all of them. But what had struck her as even more significant was how the Texan performed his tasks with care and no complaints. He seemed happy to help out however he could, no matter how overwhelming the job became. He may not have been related to any of them by blood, but he treated them in a way that could only be called familial.

_“Your friend, Michael, has a good head on his shoulders,” she had mentioned to Peter during one of his semi-lucid moments. “He stands up straight and faces life head-on. I think he’s the most sensible young man I know.”_

_“Yeah,” Peter said. “Mike’s good at standing up straight. That’s why he always looks so tall.”_

Harriet smiled at the memory of this conversation and placed a hand on the cupboards. She had waited until Mike was preoccupied with making another batch of chicken noodle soup for everyone to go to a grocery store so she could restock their shelves and refrigerator, making sure to put the things away while he was taking care of Micky upstairs. She then gave Babbit some money so they could have some additional breathing room on the rent for a few weeks while they got better. Again in secret so as not to offend the boys’ pride. She had intended to take Peter shopping for some gifts, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that some hearty meals and being able to spend some worry-free time with his friends meant far more to her son than any material trinket she could buy him.

She looked over to the front room area and saw Mike sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. She figured that this was the most sleep he had had in days and decided to leave him in peace. She had already said her goodbyes to Peter and had made promises to come back when she could.

Harriet paused by the door again. She often wished that Peter would return home to Connecticut, but could not bring herself to insist on it. He was happy here, and now she was starting to understand why.

“Mick…we don’t have a cotton candy machine,” Mike muttered in his sleep. “Stop asking….”

Harriet laughed into her hand and walked out the door without a sound.  

 


End file.
